Wolfish
by cherry-sodas
Summary: Violet Winston lost her mother when she was eight years old. [AU. Embedded into the 'Arrogance and Aggression' universe.]


Wolfish

**Firstly, I want everyone to know that I am beginning this story just **_**minutes **_**after publishing "Displaced." I say that because there's every chance this story won't see the light of day until April 2020, so I hope that's not actually the case.**

**This story follows Violet Winston, the OFC I created to be Dally's sister because … well, because I wanted to, and that has to count for half of something. Just know I'm writing all of these stories with my tongue safely fastened inside my cheek.**

**Content warnings for implicit and explicit sexual harassment and assault.**

* * *

_1958_

Violet Winston lost her mother when she was eight years old.

If she had just waited four months, just waited until September, to drown herself, then Violet would have been nine years old, and nine years old felt more mature and equipped to deal with the loss of a parent (even one as ambivalent and, later, negligent as her mother). Eight years old felt too young and too lost to understand much of what was going on. Violet did know one thing, though. She couldn't tell the difference between when people were talking about her and when people were talking about her corpse of an old lady.

The first weeks after the news broke were the hardest for Violet. After school, she would wait outside on the front lawn for her older brother, Dallas, who was always in detention for one reason or another. One afternoon, Violet asked Dally why he even bothered going to detention if he couldn't bear to follow any of the other rules. He said it was a good chance to meet up with his buddy Tim Shepard and discuss how they would wreak havoc on the school the next day. But once, Violet had snuck a peak at him in detention through the school windows, and she saw him sitting quietly at a desk, reading _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ like he was some kind of nerd, so she didn't know what to think of her tuff brother after all.

But as she waited for Dally on the front lawn, she used to hear the mothers gossip about her. They gossiped about her right in front of her, which Violet tried to convince herself was better than gossiping about her when she wasn't listening, but she knew that was untrue. They were always Soc mothers, of course. The greaser mothers who cared wouldn't breathe a word, and the greaser mothers who didn't were dead, too. Violet would stand with her tiny back against the freezing brick wall and listen to a pair of grown women snicker about her like she was one of their peers.

"Do you know how old Violet Winston was when she passed?" one of the mothers asked.

"I don't know," another mother said. "She was too young to have a ten-year-old son. That's for certain."

"She was twenty-four years old," the first mother. "And if you can do the math …"

"Oh, but I can! Fourteen years old! To have your first child at _fourteen_!"

"I know! With God as my witness, I never let a man between my legs until I was twenty-two years old, and it was my wedding night. Nine months later, we had Linda."

"And two years after that, you had John."

"And thank heavens for that."

Violet rolled her eyes. It was just like a Soc mother to be thrilled she had a boy. It would have been just like a greaser mother to curse the fact that she had another one, but there were no greaser mothers there. There were no greaser mothers anywhere, it seemed. Could mothers be greasers at all? Was that the right question to ask? At eight years old, Violet didn't know. She just knew that she hated the Soc mothers on the school lawn, and she hated her mother beneath it.

"Between the two of us," one of the mothers began, "I don't think Violet Winston's daughter is very far behind."

"Really?" the other mother asked, her voice going up to the top her head with intrigue. Violet _hated _it when women made sounds like that. They weren't becoming on anyone. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, they have the same name," the first mother said. "And if like mother, like daughter means anything when we _don't _share a name, imagine what it must be like for the little girl."

_I'm just fine, thank you_, Violet thought, although she wasn't sure if that was true or if she was just being defiant. Girls who were just fine didn't pull Angela Shepard's hair in the hallway and then lie about it. Violet felt a little guilty for that one. Angela had gotten so angry that she knocked her little sister Carrie's books out of her hands. Violet hadn't meant to hurt little Carrie. She only wanted to annoy Angela. Angela deserved it. She was talking shit about Dally on the playground, and you didn't just talk shit about Dallas Winston and get away with it, even if you were Tim and Curly Shepard's kid sister. Violet was Dally's kid sister, and that meant something, too, she thought.

"My son is in class with her," the second mother said. "And I do remember him coming home and saying that little Violet Winston grabbed a boy and kissed him underneath the slide on the playground. And if she's engaging in that kind of behavior when she's only eight years old …"

"That's _exactly _what I'm trying to say. Thank you."

Violet's heart dropped to her knees, and she hid behind a curtain of her blonde hair. She was only eight years old, but she knew what the two Soc mothers were hinting. They thought she was going to grow up too fast and become a floozy like her old lady (who, as it turned out, wasn't nearly as old as she and Dally always thought she was. After she found out how old she was when she died, Violet counted on her fingers. She was fourteen when she had Dally, and Dally would be fourteen in just four years. That was barely any time at all. She shuddered at the thought of Dally being a dad to anyone, let alone at the age of fourteen.). Her hands quickly turned to fists, which happened more and more the older she became. She knew herself. These Soc mothers didn't know a thing. When she was fourteen she would … well, she didn't know what she'd be doing, but she was quite sure it wouldn't involve raising a baby of her own. That was Angela Shepard's bag, it seemed. Her own mother had something about it to her earlier that school year, and Angela made a big fuss about it during school. Violet rolled her eyes the whole time. People expected her to be friends with Angela, but she couldn't be. Violet couldn't be friends with anyone.

Well. There was one notable exception.

She looked at the clock through the transparent door. 3:30. There was still another hour left in Dally's daily detention sentence. She wondered if he was even bothered by it, having spent a night in jail a few weeks earlier. That had been an ordeal if little Violet Winston had ever seen one. The officers said they wouldn't have needed to keep Dally overnight. He'd gotten into a scrape, and lots of white kids got let off easy for stuff like that, even the poor white kids. But they couldn't reach his father. When they finally did, all the old man said was, "Let him rot." Violet would have done something about that, but she had only recently grown tall enough to reach the doorknob by herself, and she didn't want to push her luck like her father could push her brother (or like her father's friends liked to push her).

But at 3:30, a different detention sentence was up. Violet almost smiled when she saw the door swing open on the other side of the lot. Out came a familiar dark-haired girl who walked right up to Violet across the way. Violet envied how easy it was for Jane Randle to smile, but she never spited her for it.

"Hi, Violet!" Jane said. "I was sure hopin' I'd find you here."

"I ain't got nowhere else to go," Violet said. "Dally's got detention till four. Besides, I wanted to see you just as much as I wanna go home."

"Do you really wanna go home, or do ya just not wanna be at school?"

"I don't want neither. Do you think your folks would care if I spent the night with you again?"

"Naw. I don't think they ever noticed you were stayin' in my room."

Violet almost smiled again. Her life was a series of surreal and upsetting events, but at least Jane Randle was there to make things seem more hopeful. That was why Jane was her best friend. She couldn't imagine a world where the two of them weren't best friends. Jane had a number of other friends from around the old neighborhood, like the Curtis sister, Sadie, who Violet liked OK. The trouble with Sadie was that she was heads and shoulders smarter than all the other girls, so it was hard to talk to her, even when they were only eight. The other girls, like Lilly Cade, Katie Mathews, and little Carrie Shepard were OK, too, but they were younger than Violet. It was pretty clear, too. Lilly still cried if she lost in a game of Go Fish. Violet had no patience for that. Even though she was only eight, Violet had figured out that if you were going to live a life – any life at all – you would be in constant (or at least nearly constant) pain. Life was pain, particularly in the old neighborhood. You just learned to take it like she had. There was no use in being sad about anything if you never eliminated the possibility that you might get hurt. Violet knew that better than anyone. It was why she hadn't dropped one tear since the day Dally came home and found their mother's corpse in the bathroom. It was why she knew she'd never let one drop for the woman who ignored her all her life – the woman who didn't care enough about her to give her a name of her own.

Jane's mother had named her after some book she read when she was a teenager, but Jane wasn't sure of which one. She wasn't good with books. She said she was like Sodapop Curtis in that way. Violet knew what that meant. But just because Jane wasn't good with books did _not _mean she wasn't good with stories. When Jane Randle had a story to tell you, her face lit up, and she engaged directly with you for as long as she spoke. She knew how to engage. She knew how to make anyone, including someone as bitter as little Violet Winston, feel welcome. If Violet didn't adore Jane quite so much, she'd probably hate her. But Violet saw no future where she would ever hate sweet Jane.

"Jane?" she asked.

"Yeah, Violet?"

"Can you tell me a story while we wait for Dally to get done with detention? I was awful bored 'fore you showed up outta yours."

Of course, that was a lie. But it wasn't like Violet could tell Jane the truth. Jane was too sensitive and responding recklessly to that sensitivity, which often got her into trouble. Violet knew that if Jane learned the truth about what the Socs mothers had been saying, then the Soc mothers wouldn't live to see their beloved sons beget unto them those beloved grandsons. And as much as Violet hated the idea of evil Soc mothers breeding equally evil Soc sons, she hated the idea of losing Jane more. So, she kept her mouth shut and took her lumps – for the moment, anyway. She had no qualms about telling Dally about them and seeing what he could do. When Violet was eight years old, she perceived Dally to be invincible. She never figured out if she was right or wrong, but she believed it with her whole heart. Maybe it was his scowl. He had a great scowl.

Jane smiled at Violet.

"Sure," she said. "Do you wanna hear one more than the others?"

"Naw," Violet said. "Just surprise me, OK?"

Jane nodded, closed her eyes, and drifted off into that very Jane Randle dream world that she lived in most of the time when she thought other people weren't paying attention to her. After about a minute of light humming, Jane was finally back in the fold and equipped with a familiar story – one she was quite sure that little Violet Winston needed to hear.

"OK," Jane said. "This one's a surprise."

Violet concealed a smile. She didn't want Jane to know just how much she looked forward to her stories.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Little Red Riding Hood …" Jane started.

As Jane told the story Violet had heard before, she realized something rather odd. She knew that as a little girl herself, she was probably meant to identify with Little Red Riding Hood. She was supposed to examine her own curiosity and learn not to trust strangers because you never know who's going to try to eat you alive, no matter how nice they look on the outside. Perhaps her old lady should have thought of that when she hooked up with her old man. Violet knew that was where her sympathies were supposed to be. And yet, she couldn't force them there. She could almost look through Little Red's point of view, but every time, her vision went blurry. The only time Violet could see the story clearly was when she imagined herself as the wolf.

When she told this to Jane (half knowing it would frighten the sweet girl, who was a proxy for Little Red Riding Hood if Violet had ever seen one), all Jane was able to do was wrinkle her tiny nose in disgust.

"I don't get it," she said. "How come ya wanna be the bad guy, Violet?"

"I don't wanna be the bad guy," Violet said. "I don't wanna even be the bad girl."

"Then why would you say you wanna be like the wolf?"

"I didn't say I wanted any of it. I said I can see myself as the wolf. It's different, Jane. OK?"

"But how is it different? And how are you like the wolf? I don't understand it."

Violet exhaled a particularly long breath. It was one of the first times that Jane Randle had ever gotten on her nerves, and she didn't care for it. She was eight years old, and she hoped desperately that this would never happen again. Violet didn't care for the feeling of being angry or annoyed with Jane. Jane was the only other little girl in the world who seemed to almost understand what little Violet Winston was going through.

"Sneaky," Violet said. "Ya think I'm one thing, but I ain't it at all."

"You're not sneaky," Jane said, almost like she had to rush to Violet's defense.

"I could be if I wanted to. I just know I ain't Little Red Riding Hood, Jane. I think I know too much about how the nighttime works to be her."

Jane wrinkled her nose again. Violet had almost forgotten. Jane was always inside by the time the sun went down. Her mother was present enough to make sure that Jane was safe and secure inside the home – as safe and secure as one could be with alcoholic parents who hated each other, even in spite of how much they loved their two children.

"I still don't get it," Jane said.

Violet nodded.

"I know ya don't, Janie," she said. "And I'm kinda glad."

Before Jane could ask what Violet meant by that, Dally came outside from his detention. Violet tried to hide another smile. She couldn't bear the embarrassment of her tuff brother finding out she really loved him.

"What took you so long?" Violet snapped.

"Nothin', fool," Dally said. "You ain't got no _patience_."

"You don't, neither."

"Oh, I got plenty."

Dally turned his head and nodded curtly at Jane.

"Randle."

"Hi, Dally," Jane said. "Say, do you know where Sodapop ran off to? I tried to talk to him after the last bell and before my detention, but I don't think he heard me."

"Probably runnin' from you."

"That ain't fair!"

Violet rolled her eyes. She wondered if Dally thought Jane was cute. She knew that many of the boys in the neighborhood were getting to the age when they'd start to think each other's sisters were cute. Even Johnny Cade seemed to blush whenever Sadie Curtis walked into the same room he was in. Violet wondered if any of the boys thought she was cute. She doubted it. Besides, that was a good thing. She didn't want to end up like the Violet Winston before her.

"I'm gonna stay the night at Jane's tonight," Violet told Dally. "But I gotta walk home and get my stuff first."

"You sure you wanna walk in that house?" Dally asked. "The old man's got some of them poker guys over, and I know how much you hate them, man."

"It's OK. I can tough it out."

In all honesty, Violet wasn't sure she _could _tough it out. Her old man had a skinny friend, probably about twenty-five years old, who always followed her around. He was constantly chewing on a toothpick and asking her if she wanted to chew on one, too. Violet didn't really know what that meant (if it meant anything at all, that was), but she knew she didn't like it. And she didn't want to risk running into him during one of the old man's poker games. But she'd go through a hundred of that one man just to walk home with her older brother. Those were the moment she secretly treasured most. She didn't dare tell him because she knew he would laugh, but it was how Violet felt. She hoped as time went on, he'd come to enjoy their time together, too. Maybe it was the only thing keeping Violet from becoming more like Violet.

She and Dally were halfway to their old man's house when she asked him her question.

"You ever heard the story of Little Red Riding Hood?"

"I'm alive, ain't I?"

"So, ya know the wolf?"

"He ain't a close personal friend, if that's what ya mean."

"I know _that_. I'm just wonderin'. You ever think you're like the wolf in the story? Ya know?"

Dally shrugged. Violet could tell that he didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to talk about anything anymore. It wasn't like he'd been much of an open book in the past, but after their mother's death (after Dally found their mother's body), he'd been more closed-off than ever. So, when he answered her question, Violet was taken aback.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I kinda am."

"What makes ya say that?" Violet asked.

"Dunno, man. Kinda like I got everybody fooled into thinkin' I'm somethin' else. How about you?"

It was Violet's turn to shrug. She didn't have a great answer, but since Dally asked (and it was becoming increasingly rare for her to have real conversations with her brother, whom she loved _so much_), she knew she needed to say something quickly.

"I don't think I'm real nice," Violet said. "And I don't know if that's somethin' I should fix or not. Whadda you think?"

Violet could see on her brother's face that he wanted to answer, but he didn't have the time. When they happened upon their front lawn, all the words were sucked out of their breaths and disappeared into the air. It was all the answer either of the siblings needed.

To Violet's surprise, Dally spoke again as they headed up to the front door.

"We're both like the wolf in that stupid story," he said. "We don't need nobody but ourselves to tell us what's right. Not our old man, not some teacher, and sure as hell not our dead old lady. Ya got me, V?"

Violet nodded, and so did Dally. He opened the door to their house (which was really more like the woods, Violet always believed), and she took his words to heart. They were wolves. They didn't need anyone. She'd repeat it to herself all night and into the rest of her life. She knew she would, too.

* * *

_1964_

Violet Winston was fourteen years old when she lost her friend, Jane.

It had been a long time coming. The girls had been on a steady decline for at least the last two years. Violet's attendance at school had become almost nonexistent in the eighth grade, and by the time ninth grade rolled around, she'd stopped attending altogether. There was too much change for her own good. Back in '62, some broad named Lucy had moved into the neighborhood, and the other girls just couldn't get enough of her. Lucy was so _smart_, they said. Lucy was so _pretty_, they said. She reminded them of all the things they could do that everyone else had always told them they couldn't because they were both girls _and _greasers. Lilly Cade even mentioned something about how Lucy reminded her of Anna from that movie, _The King and I_. Violet had to scoff. She'd never met this Lucy broad, but she couldn't abide the nonsense she was filling the other girls' heads with. They were nice thoughts, sure, but greaser girls didn't need nice thoughts. They needed real ones. Violet was as real as a greaser girl came. She was certainly realer than Evie something-or-other who was starting to sniff after Steve Randle (Jane's brother). She didn't need to fantasize about nonsense.

The past few years had been hard on Violet – not like she would ever show it, but she felt it. After their mother up and killed herself (Or was it _down _and killed herself?), Dally ran off to New York City without taking Violet with him. He left her in that house with their old man … their old man, his booze, and his friends (plus their hands). Violet didn't hear much from Dally in the three years he was gone. When he came back in the late summer of '62, Violet didn't even ask him why he'd chosen to return. She didn't have a chance. He tried to knock on the door and pull her out of that house once and for all, but their old man wouldn't let him. Dally barely got past the porch before the old man cursed up a storm. Dally cursed back and stormed off as Violet watched, desperately wanting to burst through the door but knowing she'd have her ass handed to her (or her ass handed to somebody else) if she tried anything. The old man turned back into the house and pointed his index finger straight at Violet, warning her not to go after her brother. Violet swallowed hard and took it. That was the thing about the old man and his kids. While he'd never particularly liked either of them, he'd always liked Violet a little bit better. She was the only one he could use as leverage in a poker game.

Violet had tried to tell Jane about that, but Jane wouldn't listen. They were twelve at the time, and Jane's crush on Sodapop Curtis had gone from cute to hormonal. Every minute was spent analyzing his movements and whether his knees were pointed to or away from Jane when they sat next to each other in math class. Jane had read in some magazine or another that if a boy touches knees with you, it means he might be interested in maybe, one day, being your steady. Violet thought that was a load of bull. She figured if a guy's knees touched yours, he'd just bumped into you.

Perhaps that was the beginning of the end. The end really came in the summer of 1964 when Jane's brother Steve started sniffing back at Evie something-or-other. Violet never thought she'd see the day. Since she hung around Jane so often when they were growing up, she'd spent quite a bit of time with Steve. She thought she knew him pretty well. She thought she knew he liked girls who played it cool. Evie wasn't one of those girls. She wanted Steve, and she made it everyone's business. Jane said that boys' egos were too fragile to turn something like that down. Violet didn't really know why, but it didn't sit well with her. If a tuff and nasty guy like Steve Randle couldn't go for her, what made her think that anyone would?

But it wasn't like Violet necessarily _wanted _Steve. She didn't really _want _anybody. Where the other girls developed crushes, Violet thought about messing up a guy's face for looking at her funny. It was what she'd had to do as a little girl, and she figured she'd need to do that forever. She didn't want a boy. She just knew she probably needed one. Even if he treated her like garbage, like her old man treated her old lady before she croaked, she'd need him in order to eat and keep a roof over her head for awhile. That was just the way things worked. She was just like her mother in that way, only this Violet Winston knew she'd stay alive. She didn't know why or how. She just knew.

When her fourteenth birthday came along, she silently rejoiced that she didn't have a baby of her own.

It was a Friday afternoon when Violet lost Jane Randle for good. After Jane was finished with school, she came to visit Violet down at the DX, where she spent most of her afternoons drinking bottles of Coke and harassing patrons (but only the ones who really deserved it, like grown men who seemed not to care that she was clearly only fourteen). When Jane walked through the door, she mentioned something about Steve applying for a job there. He would start after school, part time, in the following week.

"Well, damn," Violet said. "Shame he's goin' after Evie."

Jane furrowed her brow.

"Why's that a shame?" she asked. "She likes him. She's pretty. Why shouldn't they end up together?"

"Dunno. Guess I always thought he'd end up with somebody a little … oh, I dunno, tougher, I guess."

"How can you be tougher than _Evie_? Did you see the way she put that girl in that headlock during gym class in the fifth grade? I think she's plenty tough."

"Yeah, but that broad wasn't even askin' for it. Ya don't go after somebody like that just for the hell of it. Ya gotta have a reason."

"She had a reason! That girl pulled her hair."

"That's a stupid fuckin' reason, and you know it."

Jane took a long sip of her Coke and looked at Violet with these judgmental eyes. Violet's stomach clenched. Jane's eyes had started to get judgmental around the age of ten when Violet said she'd rather spent a whole day vomiting in the toilet than kiss Sodapop Curtis one time. That never made any sense to Violet. If anything, Jane should have been happy that Violet wasn't planning to steal her man out from under her nose.

"If I didn't know any better, Violet, I'd say you were jealous," Jane said.

Violet scoffed.

"Jealous? Of Evie? You gotta be kiddin'."

"I ain't. Look at ya. I saw last weekend down at the Dingo when Steve was chattin' her up in the line for popcorn. Ya looked like ya wanted to claw her eyes out just for lookin' at him, let alone smilin' and talkin' all nice and pretty."

"I did _not _look at her that way!"

But despite her objections, Violet wasn't sure if she was telling the truth. She could very well have glared at Evie. She didn't like her very much. She never had. When all the girls were in the fourth grade, Evie and her friend Sandy started a rumor about how Violet was beating her mother to punch. They said she was already pregnant. Violet wailed on them during recess that day, and though she took a weeklong suspension for it, she didn't regret it for a second. Those girls deserved what they got. There was a special place in hell for greasers who didn't support other greasers. Dally had taught her a lot since he'd been back in the old neighborhood. That was maybe the most important thing.

There was no way, however, that Violet would have glared at Evie because she was jealous her for getting Steve Randle's attention. That was quite impossible. Violet didn't like Steve Randle. He bothered her. His teeth were messed up from one too many fights, and he always smelled like sweat and gasoline from hanging out at the gas station as often as he did. Even Violet, the greasiest of the greaser girls, had some standards when it came to the way a boy smelled around her. She didn't like him. It didn't matter that he was the only boy in the gang besides Dally who understood what it meant to really have to fight tooth and nail for what you wanted or needed. She didn't like him. He was Jane's brother, and that would have been wrong. That was what she kept telling herself, anyway, each time she started to wonder.

"You did," Jane said. "Look, ya don't gotta tell me if ya like Steve. I couldn't care less."

"Ya couldn't care less if I had a thing for your _brother_?" Violet asked.

"Of course not. 'S your business."

"I'd freak the hell out if ya had a thing for Dally."

"Well, I don't, and I don't think anyone should. The way Lucy looks at him sometimes …"

Violet rolled her eyes. It was involuntary. That didn't mean Jane was OK with it.

"There you go again," Jane snapped.

"What?" Violet asked.

"Every time I mention Lucy, ya roll your eyes. What? Do ya see _her _as threat, too?"

"Please, honey. I ain't threatened by nobody."

It was the lie that hurt most to tell.

Jane, of course, couldn't see through Violet's braggadocio. She narrowed those judgmental eyes at her friend again. Every time Jane would look at her that way, Violet would get progressively angrier.

"Look, all I was gonna say is that it don't matter if ya like my brother," Jane said. "It don't matter what I think or what anybody thinks. He's taken now. Evie got him. Ya lost. But ya can't look at her like she's the big bad wolf anymore."

Violet's heart dropped to her knees. She wasn't particularly sure why. It was probably a combination of things. For one, she and Jane had been on the outs for much longer than either of them had been willing to admit. For another, she missed Dally, since he could have helped her out of this jam. And for one last thing, she wasn't sure if she was lying to herself. Since her mother's death, Violet Winston had been lying to herself every minute of everyday, and yet, she still couldn't run from the truth that was her name.

"She ain't the big bad wolf," Violet said. "I am. Everybody knows that."

"Oh, Violet, stop it," Jane said. "You ain't as tough as you say you are, and everybody knows it. Hell, even Evie knows it. You mighta beaten the tar outta her in the fourth grade after she and Sandy spread those rumors about ya, but you ain't been back for shit since. You're really tough and scary for an hour or two, but then, you ain't scary no more. People catch on. Ya got a pattern."

Now Jane was accusing her of being _predictable_? That was low. Violet Winston wasn't predictable. She was as dangerous as anyone. She could take care of herself, just like her brother. They were both wolves. Jane should have known that. Didn't she know that?

"Shut up, Jane," Violet muttered.

"I will not," Jane said. "You gotta own up to your own shit, Violet."

"What shit?"

"Well, you can _start _by admittin' you're jealous of Evie for snaggin' my brother before you got a shot."

"I didn't _want _a shot."

"You're lying!"

"I am not! And the next time you go around tryin' to make a girl admit she likes some guy she doesn't give two shits about, maybe look at yourself. Maybe admit to yourself that Soda don't give a damn about ya. Just 'cause ya went to a dance together don't mean he's pickin' out flowers for the wedding like you are, Little Miss Gladiolus."

Jane's hands turned into fists. _There's my girl_, Violet thought. _Maybe you'll be a wolf, too_.

"You ain't supposed to use that against me," Jane said. "You're supposed to be my friend. You're supposed to tell me that Soda's gonna wake up one day and realize it's been me all along!"

"That ain't my job," Violet said. "You must be mixin' me up with your other friends. My job is tellin' you to be real."

"Fine, then. If it's your job to tell me to be real, then it's my job to tell you the same thing. And I think you _are _jealous of Evie 'cause she's got Steve's attention, and you don't."

"That's dumb as shit. I ain't jealous of fuckin' Evie, man. I ain't even sure she's got a last name."

"At least she has her _own _name."

That about tore it for Violet Winston. When she took the past few years of her friendship with Jane Randle into account, she wasn't sure she could stand there and be ridiculed anymore. She wasn't some doe-eyed girl in the woods, all alone. She was a wolf. And Jane was going to regret the day she pissed off the big bad wolf.

Violet wound up and charged the girl whom she once might have called her dearest and best friend. Jane was so confused and shocked that she didn't even have time to defend herself. Before either girl really knew what was happening or what they were feeling, Violet was socking Jane in the gut.

And just like that, a lifetime's worth of friendship was over. Irreparably over.

Jane slouched off and cursed Violet's name on the way out. She might have said some other things, but Violet was too busy staring at her fists, amazed, to hear her. There was a moment when she thought of running outside and chasing after Jane, but she didn't. She couldn't. She knew that once you punched your best friend in the gut, your friendship had to be over. Violet Winston might have been a high school dropout, but she wasn't an idiot.

_Except that she was_.

She limped out of the DX and toward Jay's, where she knew she'd run into someone – _anyone _– who wasn't Jane. When she walked through the door, she found her brother's friend, Two-Bit Mathews, sitting by himself in a booth with a milkshake and a flask he wasn't doing a great job of concealing. Amused, Violet slid into the booth across from him.

"Hey, Two-Bit," she said. "How blitzed are ya?"

"Not blitzed enough to forget who you are," Two-Bit said. "What're you doin' here, Violet? I happen to know your old man ain't about lettin' you outta the house once it gets dark."

"My old man don't give a shit where I go if his friends ain't comin' in for poker," Violet said. "I was with Jane down at the DX."

"Well, that's good, ain't it? You and Janie always have gotten along. Musta

been awhile since ya really got to talk to her."

"Yeah. Think it was the last time I ever will, too."

"What does that mean?"

"Means I punched Jane right in the gut."

Two-Bit choked on his mixture of milkshake and booze.

"What?" he sputtered. "But you and Jane never got rough with each other. If ya did, I'd pay to see it."

Violet narrowed her eyes at him, and he backed off. Inside, Violet smiled, satisfied. Good. It was good to know that her wolfish Winston grin still struck fear into someone's heart.

"It was a long time comin'," Violet said. "She finally got on my last nerve."

"What she do?"

Violet looked around the restaurant to see if Steve was there. To her disappointment (_disappointment_?) he wasn't. She turned back to Two-Bit and shrugged.

"Ain't none of your business, man," she said. "Just thought you oughta know."

"Well, I'm real sorry, Violet," Two-Bit said. "You deserve better than a friend who makes ya wanna punch her right in the gut."

He leaned across the booth, almost like he was going to kiss her. Her heart jumped into her throat, nervous as hell. _Was _he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? She was fourteen years old, and she hadn't yet had her first kiss. She'd been at a party once with Angela Shepard (one Jane refused to attend because she decided she'd rather hang out with _Lucy_), and when the kids all sat around to play Spin the Bottle, Violet's bottle had landed on Angela's brother, Curly. He'd clicked his tongue in disgust and refused to kiss her because she was Dally's kid sister, and that would be too much like kissing ole Dally. Violet had tried not to feel hurt. She didn't want Curly Shepard. She just wanted someone to see her as Violet Winston, not her old lady, and not some clone of her brother.

Two-Bit still wasn't kissing her. Violet was equally relieved and offended. He just looked her in the eye like he was going to take her in a manly fashion. Of course, it wouldn't have been very manly. Two-Bit wasn't quite eighteen himself, and even though he had sideburns like nobody's business, it didn't change the fact that he was still a kid underneath it all. For a brief moment, Violet almost felt sorry for him. Then he touched her face.

"Everybody's always goin' around talkin' about how cute they think Jane is," he said. He was almost slurring, though not quite. Two-Bit drank so much so often that he'd learned how to be a pretty articulate drunk. Violet would have been impressed if booze didn't repulse her so much. She'd seen what it could do to men … what it could do to a friend like Two-Bit. He just kept touching her face. She just stood there. It was all she'd been taught how to do. Dally had run off to New York before he taught her how to really fend for herself.

"Everybody likes ole Jane," Two-Bit said. "And she's real pretty. Don't get me wrong. But she's soft. She can't hold her own like you can. You're everything rough and tough and cool."

He took a strand of Violet's hair and twirled it around his index finger. Violet thought she might throw up.

"Have I ever told you how much I like blondes?"

That was when Violet had had enough. The violent strength she usually used against worthier adversaries bubbled up inside of her and exploded onto a boy she believed to be her friend. She pushed him away from her and slapped his wrists _hard_. It wasn't all she could do. When Two-Bit tried to stand back up, she grabbed his boozy milkshake and dumped it over his head.

"Violet!" he said. "Violet, _please _stop!"

"I ain't gonna stop!" Violet yelled. Everyone was staring, and yet, no one was doing anything. For the people in the old neighborhood, this was just another Friday night of unwanted touching between a young guy and a younger girl. No one ever did anything to stop it … until that night.

"Violet! Please!"

"You ain't gonna touch me no fuckin' more!"

As she raised her fist in the air to wail on Two-Bit, she realized that if she hit him, he wouldn't be the person she really wanted to hit. Two-Bit wasn't right to twirl her hair and hit on her while he was three sheets to the wind. Everyone knew that. Hell, even Two-Bit knew it, and he was still too drunk to remember his own name. But before her fist could come down, and she could punch the hell out of all the men who'd done her wrong in this one very convenient body, she felt another hand pull hers back.

She looked up and growled when she saw who it was standing above her.

"Dally!" she said. "Go away, man! I can do this myself!"

"No, ya fuckin' can't, V!" Dally shouted at her. "Ya think ya can, but ya can't. This is between me and Two-Bit now."

"What? Like I can't fight my own battles 'cause I'm a girl? It's _my _fuckin' face he was touchin'. Not yours."

"You're my sister, and it's my job to fuckin' take care of you," Dally said. "You stay the hell outta this. Ya hear?"

Violet took a step back, but she didn't want to. All she wanted to do was fight for herself for the first time in her life. All she wanted to do was be the wolf she'd always wanted to be. She didn't want to be soft like Little Red. She didn't want to be the dewy-eyed innocent schoolgirl who needed a huntsman to fight her battles for her. She wanted to be the one with the axe. She wanted to be the one who could ensnare her enemies between her teeth. Dally shouldn't need to do that for her. Had he forgotten what he said after their mother died? They were _both _wolves. Why wouldn't he give her the chance to be one?

Dally pulled Two-Bit out of the booth and dragged him outside for a fight. On their way out, Violet heard Two-Bit mutter something about Violet's pretty blonde hair. She grabbed a strand of it and looked at it between her fingers. Suddenly, it wasn't _just hair_. It was something almost evil.

She grabbed a bottle of hair dye from the drugstore the next morning and put it on all by herself. She hadn't even checked to see the color she'd picked, but she was relieved later on to discover that it was brown. But of course, Violet hadn't cared what color her hair was going to be. All she wanted was for it to be different.

* * *

_1968_

Violet Winston was newly nineteen years old when she went to bed with a man for the first time.

She was shocked it had taken so long, what with her greasiness and general rebelliousness against what she, as a young woman, was _supposed to do _with her life. It wasn't the first time she'd taken off her clothes off for a man, but it was the first time she'd looked right at the guy in front of her and wanted him in this way – and wanted him as badly as he seemed to want her. This wasn't like those times before. This was different. This almost felt like love.

Well, if it wasn't love, it was at least a matter of respect. After years of pretending like she felt nothing for Steve Randle, she gave in one night. By sheer coincidence, Violet and Steve had been seeing quite a bit of each other since Steve had returned from Vietnam. He was down at Jay's a lot, trying to get away from Jane (who frequented Jay's at different times, trying to get away from Steve and trying to forget her sorrows and worries about Sodapop Curtis, her now-boyfriend who'd shipped out months before Steve was scheduled to return home). Violet was down there a lot, too. It felt ironic. She thought she should want to avoid the place where Two-Bit Mathews drunkenly hit on her, and she'd nearly beaten the tar out of him before Dally stopped her (because she was his sister and a girl). But going to Jay's felt almost like apologizing to Two-Bit for trying to beat the shit out of him that night years earlier. He hadn't been right to do what he did, but Violet hadn't been right to beat him. That's what she figured, anyway. Maybe she was wrong. As a Winston, she was often wrong.

She didn't, however, think she was wrong about Steve Randle. There was a moral dilemma about it, as Steve was technically still seeing Evie, the chick he'd started to go steady with when he was just fifteen years old. But ever since Steve's return from Vietnam, he hadn't been the same as before he left. Maybe that was obvious. Steve had always been gruff and violent, rivaling only Dally in the number-of-skulls-busted department (maybe even beating him now, since Dally had been married to Lucy Bennet since his eighteenth birthday and became a father to Violet's niece, Elenore, in the spring of '67). Since his return from the war, however, he'd been rough and tough and hardened in a way that not even Dally, at his most silently grieving, could have ever touched. He needed someone to listen, but there was no one there when he looked around his usual haunts. Soda was still in 'Nam, Two-Bit was fucked up in a different way, and Jane was so worried about saying the wrong shit that she couldn't really listen to Steve for more than three seconds at a time. Whenever Steve talked about Jane, there was a small part of Violet's heart that grieved the loss of their bond, but she never reached out to her. It had been too long, and if there was one thing Jane was good at, it was holding a grudge for years – maybe even the rest of her life.

Violet thought she might be the only person left in the world who could understand what it was like to feel pain in the same way Steve Randle felt pain. Granted, she'd never been to war and never shot a boy in cold blood with her two shaky hands like he had, but she knew what it was like to feel bitter pain, regret, and sorrow without feeling like you could share it with anybody. She knew what it was like to think that if you opened your mouth and shared your truth with somebody, they'd look you up and down like you were a freak. But Violet didn't think Steve was a freak. She didn't think he was too violent, too cruel, or too … anything. For Violet (and only in the most secretive recesses of her mind), Steve was everything she needed him to be.

At least, Steve was everything Violet needed him to be for a few hours at a time, which they could spend together. Then, he would go back to the life he was supposed to live – long shifts at the DX and sleeping beside Evie. Violet didn't care. She told herself she didn't care. She was a wolf, and wolves didn't need companions for more than sex and a meal.

She'd been on top for her first time. Steve said he couldn't have imagined having sex with Violet Winston in any other way. Even though she wasn't sure what real, honest, and loving sex was supposed to look like, Violet had to admit that she agreed.

They lay beside one another in Violet's shitty bed at the house her old man hadn't returned to for months – maybe closer to a year. She couldn't remember anymore. For a long time, they just stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering what they were supposed to (or allowed to) do next. Violet wondered if the ceiling would finally cave in on them, and it wouldn't matter what she had to say. And what was she supposed to say? _Sorry I fucked you when you've got a girl waiting for you across the street? _Nothing was right. She was beginning to wonder if she'd fucked up. The honest conversations and kinship were one thing. Fucking Steve Randle behind Evie's back was another. It was exactly the kind of thing Violet Winston would have done.

She was such a wolf.

At long last, it was Steve who broke the silence.

"I like bein' with you," he said.

Startled, Violet flipped over on her side to get a better look at Steve's face. She furrowed her brow and asked, "What?"

Steve flipped over on his side to look Violet directly in the eye. She wouldn't let him. As soon as he attempted to meet her gaze, she looked up at the ceiling again. It was too hard to look him in the eye and remember that she'd become exactly the Violet Winston she'd spent the last ten years praying that she wouldn't become. It was too late. She'd chased her fate and fallen into it, just like everyone in the neighborhood knew she would. Why would she even pretend?

"You heard me," Steve said. "I like bein' with you. It's nice. Gives me time to clear my head."

"I don't think anyone else looks at me that way," Violet said.

"Maybe not. But it's not up to them. They ain't here right now."

"If they were, we'd have a lot of explaining to do. Wouldn't we?"

"Oh, we would. But that ain't the point, Violet. It don't matter what anybody else thinks of you when we're together. They don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't feel about you. I get to decide. And I decide that I like bein' with you. Is that wrong?"

_Yes_, Violet knew. But she didn't say anything. There was a part of her that _wanted _to fully embrace that _Violet Winston _everyone had always predicted she would become. All her life, she'd tried to resist it. She'd done her fair share of shit, but she'd never lifted her skirt for a man who wasn't hers to lift her skirt for. Now that she had, it seemed like there was no point in trying to deny it anymore. She was Violet Winston, and she was going to seize the things that made her feel good for once in her fucking life. That part of her screamed at her to take it every time she looked at Steve. She wondered if that was how Dally felt when he looked at Lucy. She wondered if that was how love was supposed to feel.

But it couldn't have been love. Violet Winston wasn't raised to be able to do that. Dally had gotten lucky, what with hugs from mother figures like Mrs. Curtis and now, his own mother-in-law, Mrs. Bennet. Violet hadn't grown up with any of that shit (and to her, yes, it really, really felt like shit). In all of his treachery, Dally had learned how to love and not be embarrassed of it, either. That wasn't the case for Violet. The only thing she loved, she thought, was seeking out pleasure.

"Violet?" Steve asked.

"What?"

"Do you like … do you like bein' with me, too?"

Violet's heart fell into her stomach. It wasn't that she disliked being with Steve. No, of course that wasn't it. She had the time of her life when she was with Steve. With Steve, she felt listened to for the first time since she was a little girl, and Dally walked her home while she regaled him with the story of Little Red Riding Hood. Steve made her feel alive and like there was a reason for her to stay that way. When she was with Steve, she felt like Violet Winston – the way Violet Winston was supposed to be.

And then, when things got quiet, the pleasure would go away, and the guilt would set in. The hairs on her neck would stand up, and she would remember that Steve wasn't hers for the taking. Worse than that, he never would be. Steve might have been rough-and-tumble, and he might have been the first one to put up a fight when somebody provoked him. But he wasn't going to be the bad guy who left Evie and broke her heart, especially not after nearly choking her in their sleep one night before Violet met up with him again. He was a tough guy, but he wasn't a bad guy. How badly Violet wished he would be, if only for a moment. It would do her a lot of good, and she wasn't used to good coming her way.

"Violet?" Steve asked again. "Did ya hear me or what?"

Violet nodded. She'd heard him – and loudly at that.

"Yeah," she said, trying and failing to play it cool. "Of course I do."

_Of course I do_? She cursed herself on the inside. So much for playing it cool.

As it turned out, Steve didn't need Violet to be cool. He leaned forward and kissed her lips right away, as if to thank her for enjoying his company. Violet would have thought it was cute if she wasn't taught to resent all things cute. Besides, she had something else on her mind. She'd wanted to ask Steve about it for ages already.

"Hey, Steve?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"You know the story of Little Red Riding Hood, don't ya?"

"Who doesn't? If ya haven't heard of it, I'm worried about whether ya live under a rock."

Violet almost smiled, but she didn't. Smiling was a sign of weakness, vulnerability, or attachment. She didn't want Steve to think she was or had any of those things, particularly not where _he _was concerned, anyway. It would be easier when he eventually stopped seeing her, which he would. No one could stay with Violet Winston, knowing what they thought they knew about her. She understood. It was too much to try to explain.

"Well, I think about it a lot," Violet said. "Way more often than I probably ever need to, but everybody's got their thing, don't they?"

"Guess so," Steve said. "Where are you goin' with this?"

"I've always thought of myself as the big bad wolf in that story," Violet said. "Ya know, 'cause I'm tough, and I'm always kind of alone, no matter what I do to try to take a walk with somebody else in the woods. I said that to Jane when we were little kids once, and she thought that was nuts. Dally got it, though. He says he and I are both like wolves."

Steve nodded. It sounded accurate to him.

"So, I guess I was just wonderin'," Violet said. "Do you see yourself as the wolf in that story, too?"

Steve gave no verbal answer. Instead, he kissed Violet deeper, and she turned red. Steve Randle could do that to her. He always could, from the time he started working at the DX and opened her bottles of Coca-Cola for her before she could even ask him to do it. But she wasn't going to say anything. Steve wasn't hers to talk about – never could be, no matter how badly she wanted to cry about it with Lucy and Dally. They'd never hear it. They were the real tough ones. Violet was just an impersonator. That was how she'd always felt.

In that kiss, Violet knew the answer to her question. When their lips broke apart, Steve looked at Violet, almost as if to ask if she understood what he was trying to say now. She nodded.

"I thought I was crazy," she muttered.

"Naw," Steve said. "You ain't."

He leaned over and found the transistor radio on Violet's nightstand, which she had picked from somebody's trash before the trucks could come around. After passing through some classical stations and some Hank Williams song, he settled on a station with the sound of a howl.

"_Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood / you sure are lookin' good / you're everything a big bad wolf could want _…"

Violet bit her lip, embarrassed (but of what, exactly, she didn't know).

"Seems like somebody out there heard you talkin' or somethin'," he said.

"This is a stupid fuckin' song," Violet muttered and chewed a strand of her hair.

Steve motioned to pull the hair out of Violet's mouth, but she swatted his hand away. He sat back and pretended like he'd never tried to treat her like that – like … well, like she was Evie. Secretly, Violet longed for Steve Randle to treat her like he treated Evie when he went on home to her. She wanted someone (him, to be precise and nothing less) to pull the hair from between her teeth when she was nervous. But she couldn't say that. If she would say that, who would believe her?

"Violet," Steve said. "You ever think maybe you don't wanna be the big bad wolf?"

"Well, I sure as hell ain't Little Red," Violet spat. "If ya wanna go play with Little Red, she's waitin' for ya. In fact, I know she is."

"Aww, c'mon. You don't gotta be that way. Besides, I was thinkin' … just for a minute or two … let yourself be a little bit different?"

It was all he needed to say. For a minute or two more, Violet felt less alone. She felt, even for a moment, like she belonged in somebody's pack. He climbed on top of her and looked her in the eye. This time, she let him. It hurt like hell. But she let him.

Even though both of them knew that Steve wouldn't be caught dead doing it in front of anyone else in the world (even Evie, maybe _especially _Evie), he sang to her.

"_What big eyes you have / the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad / so just to see that you don't get chased / I think I ought to walk with you for a ways_…"

Violet let out a giggle – the kind of giggle no one else would ever be allowed to hear. This was what she wanted and what she knew she couldn't have. She _knew _it. She knew it, but for those few minutes she had it, nothing else mattered. All she cared about was keeping Steve in that bed and in that home for as long as she could. That way, she could pretend like she was the kind of girl who got stuff like this. She could pretend she was the kind of girl who deserved stability. And it worked for a while.

"_What a big heart I have / the better to love you with / Little Red Riding Hood / even bad wolves can be good_."

Yes, it did work for a little while.

But then the clock struck five, and Steve had to make it home in time to see Evie after work.

* * *

_1975_

Violet Winston was twenty-five years old when she gave birth to a daughter of her own.

It had gone exactly as she thought it would. The year she got pregnant, she was still seeing Steve on the side. He and Evie were still an item in the public, and though his dalliances with Violet had undoubtedly dwindled over the course of six years, they still kept them up. Steve loved Evie. He reminded Violet of that every time they were together. After a year or two, her heart stopped clenching like a big, bad wolf when he said it. He loved her. It was a simple fact of life, like the color of the sky or Darry Curtis's ridiculous tendency to keep his front door unlocked in the middle of the night. But even though he loved Evie like no other, he couldn't be real with her like he could be real with Violet. It had been the same speech since she was nineteen, and yet, Violet never tired of it. It made her feel like the kind of girl those moms from the elementary school swore she could never become. It made her able to deny that she'd become _exactly _the kind of girl they were sure she _would _become.

That night, she fell for the speech a little more than usual. When she waited for her next period, and it never came, she was beginning to wonder exactly _how _hard she'd fallen for it.

There was no doubt in her mind of who the father was. After all, Steve was the only man she'd been with in the last year. She couldn't pretend with other men anymore. They didn't understand her like he did, and at that point, she was too afraid to let them.

Violet didn't tell Steve when she found out she was pregnant. Instead, she let him be excited for Jane when she learned she was pregnant with his first niece or nephew (ultimately a niece, Tuesday Evelyn, after her Aunt Evie). She let him get all worked up when he proposed to Evie, and they agreed to move to Austin, Texas because she'd always wanted to. She was tired of being the only bleeding heart in Tulsa, she said. That always made Violet snort a little. Clearly, she'd never met anyone else in the neighborhood.

But it wasn't like Violet didn't know the real reason Evie wanted to move. She knew it every time she looked in the mirror and every time that baby kicked her in the ribs.

She kept the pregnancy a secret from everyone but Dally and Lucy (who were in New York City and couldn't quite as easily gossip from there) until she couldn't anymore. She was down at the drugstore when she ran into Jane, who was just a little less pregnant than Violet. The hormones must have gotten to Jane's head and made her forget who Violet was because when she came upon her in the milk aisle, she threw her arms around her and congratulated her loudly. It was humiliating. Violet wanted to crawl into a hole and die. More than anything, she wanted to tell Jane that the baby was her nephew or niece. But she didn't. She couldn't. When Jane started rattling off about how happy Steve and Evie were now that their wedding was fast approaching, Violet knew she couldn't say a word – not to ruin Jane's happiness or to confide in her, like they used to do when they were so young. There was a part of Violet that still loved Jane, and she wasn't going to risk hurting her.

Violet gave birth to her daughter in the hospital, alone, on February 23, 1975. Before she drove herself to the hospital in the middle of her labor (not safe, the nurses chided her), she'd called Lucy and Dally in New York and asked them if they could make it to Tulsa to see the baby (and take care of her). But that didn't matter. As soon as the nurses put the little baby girl in her hands, Violet felt like she wasn't alone. For the first time, she felt what it was like to never have to be the big, bad wolf ever again.

She looked into the baby's eyes and loved her. But her heart dropped when she saw the baby's nose. There was no denying it – this kid had Steve's nose. She only hoped she'd be able to avoid Steve and Evie long enough. If Evie saw this kid's nose, it would be a dead giveaway, and she'd leave Steve on the spot. And Violet wasn't foolish, either. She knew that if Evie ever left Steve because she found out about the two of them, Steve wouldn't just shack up with her instead. He was a rough guy, but he wasn't a bad guy. That was what she liked best about him.

But that didn't mean the baby got to know who her father was. That would have been too much – for _everyone _involved.

One of the nurses said something about filling out the baby's birth certificate now that she was out in the world, and Violet panicked. She hadn't even thought about what to name this baby. She just knew it was going to be born. She hadn't even really thought of the baby as a person until moments earlier, when she was finally born. Violet began to panic until there was a knock on the open doorway.

"You need anything, V?"

Violet's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She was joyful, but she knew she had to play it cool, even lying helplessly in her hospital bed. She strained her neck to call her brother into the hospital room.

"Dally," she said. "How the fuck did you get here so fast, man?"

Dally stepped into the room and came around to one side of Violet's bed. He shrugged.

"Bennet got us the first flight out," he said. "We rushed like fuckin' crazy, man. She and Elenore are around somewhere. Elenore started freakin' out 'cause she don't like hospitals, so Bennet's out there, tryin' to calm her down."

Violet nodded.

"Almost ten years, the two of you have been married," she said.

"Yeah, in November," Dally said. "Can I see?"

"See? See what?"

"Your fuckin' baby, V."

"Oh. Right."

She passed the unnamed baby into her brother's hands, and she could have sworn he almost smiled.

"It's a girl," Violet said. "I mean, I'm sure you could tell by the pink blanket and all that jazz, but …"

"I can see that. A girl. Fuck, man. What're you gonna name her, huh?"

Violet sighed.

"That's the issue," she said. "I don't know, and it's pissin' me off."

"Why would that piss you off?"

"Nurse is comin' with the birth certificate, and if I ain't careful, my daughter's gonna come outta this hospital bein' named Bed Pan Winston."

"Did ya have to pick the grossest thing in this fuckin' room?"

"Second grossest. I coulda said 'Bowel Movement' Winston."

"After our father's father? Oh, V, what a fuckin' gesture."

Violet snorted, amused. She'd missed Dally more than she'd known.

"I guess I always thought I'd come up with a good name," Violet said. "Ya know, 'cause our old lady couldn't be bothered to give me a real name. Just copied hers without any meaning. I don't wanna do that. If ya name your kid _Violet Winston_, she's doomed to a life of … stealin' other people's men."

Dally furrowed his brow.

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked.

"Dally, don't be dumb," Violet said. "You got any doubt, just look at this kid's fuckin' nose, man."

Dally looked down at the baby and then looked back up at his sister. She nodded.

"Oh," he said. "Does he know?"

Violet shook her head. She would have said more, but there was another knock on the doorway.

"Can we come in?" Lucy asked. Elenore, who was a sheepish almost-eight-year-old at the time, stood silently by her mother's side.

"Hey, Bennet," Violet said. "Come on in."

They did and joined around the bed. Dally looked at Violet as if to ask her whether he could tell Lucy that Steve Randle was this baby's father. Violet nodded a little, as if to tell her brother that he could tell his wife the truth as long as he promised not to do it in front of Elenore. Dally, by some kind of miracle, understood.

"Violet, she's gorgeous," Lucy said. Somehow, she missed the nose – not like it made the baby ugly (It didn't.), but it did make her paternity clear.

"Thanks, Lucy," Violet said.

"V's upset 'cause she can't think of a good name for the baby," Dally said.

"Oh, no!" Lucy said. "Dally, can you pass her to me? I think I can help out."

Dally handed Lucy the baby, and Violet asked how Lucy could possibly help out like that.

"Mom's kind of good with names," Elenore said. "And she'll spell 'em right on the birth certificate, too."

"I thought you liked the way your name's spelled," Dally said.

"Sure, Daddy. Sure."

Dally rolled his eyes playfully, and Lucy stared at the baby. Somehow, she seemed to miss the nose every time. She took a moment before she spoke again.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm getting an _A _name," Lucy said. "I don't typically tap into those vowel sounds, but I can't stop hearing it for this baby."

"Congratulations, Dally, man," Violet said. "Your wife's fuckin' nuts."

"I know," Dally said. "Ain't it great?"

"Anna," Lucy said and handed the baby girl back to Violet in the bed. "I think your daughter's name is Anna."

Violet looked down at the baby and smiled at her. She really was pretty – sweet, too. She'd been out in the world for nearly two hours already, and she hardly ever fussed.

"Anna," she repeated, quietly. The baby seemed to perk up at the sound of her name.

In her head, Violet repeated the name in Steve's voice. Though he might never meet his daughter, she liked to pretend that he might.

It sounded beautiful.

"Anna," Violet said, louder this time. "My daughter's name is Anna."

And so it was.

A little while later, the nurse came into the hospital room again and told Violet to fill out the birth certificate. Lucy agreed to help out. She spelled Anna's name and gave her the last name Winston. When Lucy got to the part where she was supposed to fill out the father's information, she cautiously asked Violet what she wanted to say.

It wasn't difficult for Violet to respond.

"Unknown."

And just like that, she was the big, bad wolf again. She needed to be – for Anna's sake.

* * *

_1980_

Violet Winston was thirty-one years old when she realized she wasn't the big, bad wolf anymore.

Violet and Anna stayed in Tulsa and in the old neighborhood for a little while. It was the two of them against the world. On occasion, they would visit Aunt Lucy and Uncle Dally in New York, but they never visited Jane and her kids, even though they were Anna's cousins, too. It had been five years, and still, only Dally and Lucy knew the truth about Anna's father. One afternoon in October when Anna was five years old, mother and daughter were walking down the milk aisle, and Violet heard someone call her name.

She turned around slowly, and her heart fell into her knees. Steve Randle was coming toward her. When she saw his face, her heart turned stiff. She knew she had to be the big, bad wolf again. She had to protect herself from getting vulnerable and getting hurt. She had to teach Anna to do the same thing. If she didn't, Anna would be soft, too, and Violet didn't wish that on anybody. She didn't want Anna to be the kind of woman who skirted around her former lover in a grocery store. She wanted Anna to be better than that. She wanted Anna to be the Violet Winston she'd always wanted to be.

"Violet," Steve called out again.

He wasn't asking. He was just talking.

She turned around slowly and tried to smile, but she failed. Smiling wasn't something Violet Winston could do unless she'd been tricked into it. Luckily for her, Anna knew how to trick her better than anybody. So, when Anna tugged on her mother's hand, she smiled at Steve without even meaning to do it.

"Hi," Violet said. "Long time."

"Too long, if ya ask me," Steve said. He glanced down at Anna.

"Hi," he said.

Anna didn't say anything. Steve looked at Violet, confused.

"She deaf or somethin'?" he asked.

"No, Steve, my daughter isn't _deaf_," she said. "She just knows better than to talk to strangers in the drugstore."

Violet gave Anna a little nudge, and the little girl smiled by default.

"This is Anna," Violet said. "She's five."

Steve nodded, and Violet could tell this wasn't anything new to him. If she'd been the big, bad wolf for a little while longer, she could have walked out of the store without paying one more ounce of attention to the man who loved her but could never leave to be with her. But she knew she couldn't. She wasn't strong enough anymore. She was vulnerable.

She put her hands on Anna's shoulders.

"Uh, Anna," she said. "We left Nana Esther a couple aisles back when she was gettin' some stuff for chocolate cake. You wanna go back and see her for a minute while I talk to my friend Steve over here?"

Anna nodded.

"OK, Ma," she said. "See ya soon?"

"So soon."

Anna grinned one more time and ran off to the confectionary aisle. Nervously, Steve stepped closer to Violet. She wanted to grab him and kiss him. She wanted to fall through the floor. She wished she could puff out her chest and roar again, but she couldn't. She was soft.

"Nana Esther?" Steve asked.

Violet nodded.

"Well, Dally and Lucy were livin' in New York," Violet said. "And you … well, you know. We didn't really have nobody here. Lucy's parents, Esther and Jack, they kinda took us in after Anna was born. Took over as Anna's grandma and grandpa, seein' as she doesn't have any grandparents of her own. So, she splits with Elenore. We lived with them for a little while. Now me and my girl live in the apartment above Great Books. You know, where my brother lived with Lucy and Elenore till they moved back in '70."

Steve nodded, too.

"Wouldn't have thought Great Books still exists," Steve said. "You know, now that Lucy ain't here to keep it in business."

"Well, Ponyboy and Carrie Shepard still live in town. They got a kid, too. I'm sure they keep the place afloat. In fact, I know they do. Anna plays with their little girl all the time."

"Hmm."

An awkward silence befell them. After all, the silence could only be awkward when you ran into the person you loved after years of no contact, only to meet your estranged child in the process. Violet shuffled in her shoes.

"So," she said. "When did you find out about Anna?"

"Jane told me you were pregnant," Steve said. "I knew it had to be mine, but I didn't say nothin', of course. I tried to see ya when Jane mentioned you had the baby and named her Anna, but I didn't want to impose."

"Good idea," Violet said. "It would probably piss off your wife to know you wanted to meet up with the woman you used to fuck on the side. And surprise! She's got a daughter who's yours, too."

"C'mon, Violet," Steve said. "Don't be that way."

"How the hell else am I supposed to be?"

"Well, I don't know! I don't know what I wanted outta this!"

And then, oddly, they shared a laugh. Nothing was particularly funny – more exhausting and scary – but all they could do was laugh. Violet was amazed by how natural it felt to laugh with Steve Randle after all these years. But she knew that was all it could be. It didn't matter how vulnerable she let herself be, in front of him or in front of her daughter. She and Steve were never going to be together. He wasn't the kind of man who left his wife, and she wasn't the kind of woman who'd encourage him. It didn't matter how soft she'd let herself become now that she was somebody's mother. She was doomed to be the big, bad wolf – tough and alone for the rest of her life.

"She's got my nose," Steve said.

"Yeah," Violet said. "Good think it works better on a girl."

"You still ain't even the slightest bit nice, are ya?"

"Naw, but I think you knew that when ya signed up for me."

"Kinda did."

They looked at each other again. There were no real words to describe what they wanted to tell each other – how much they loved each other and how much it pained them to be apart. What they both knew was that none of it really mattered. Steve would go back to Texas. Violet would grab Anna's hand and walk back to the apartment above Great Books. It would be like their little encounter had never happened. It hurt like hell, but there was no avoiding it. They were doomed to walk the same tricky path in the woods for the rest of their lives, always thinking about each other, but never meeting. There was no Little Red in their story – just two angry wolves.

Suddenly, Violet became very aware of the music on in the story. It was that annoyingly catchy "Call Me" song that Pony's kid, Cordelia, liked so much.

"_Call me / call me / my love / call me, call me, any, any time _…"

Steve must have caught on, too. He pointed to the ceiling.

"Is that what I should tell ya?" he asked. "Should I tell ya to call me? Maybe give a me day that I can…?"

"Whatever you're gonna suggest, I have to say no," Violet said. "I can't … I can't have you around. Not right now. Anna's still so little, and if me and you are in the same room for too long, things start to get …"

"I know. And me and Evie …"

"I know. We don't gotta talk about it."

"Thank fuckin' goodness."

They were quiet again, but it didn't last long. Their dignified silence was interrupted by an infamous howl.

"_Who's that I see walkin' in these woods? / Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood!_"

"Good song," Steve said. "You remember?"

_I was with you, _Violet thought. _How could I forget?_

But she didn't say that. Instead, she just nodded and said, "Don't get a big head, man. It's just a fuckin' song, and we were just two stupid fuckin' kids."

Steve nodded. Violet could tell by the look in his eyes that there was more he wanted to say, but she wasn't going to let him. This wasn't a happy ending. Violet Winston didn't get happy endings. Anna was the closest she'd ever get – to happiness, to peace, or to Steve. She had to be content with that. Otherwise, she'd turn out like Violet Winston, and that was the last thing she ever wanted.

"I should go," Steve finally said. "You OK?"

"I'm always OK," Violet said. "Don't you remember? I'm the big, bad wolf."

Steve shot her one last smile. It took all her resolve not to ask him to stay.

"Bye, Violet," he said. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Maybe."

He turned around and left the store, and Violet stood there, still, watching him leave. He crossed the street to meet a woman coming out of another store – Evie. He took her hand, and they walked back toward the old Curtis house like nothing had ever happened. And perhaps nothing _had _happened. Just two old friends who used to be stupid kids meeting up again in a grocery store. It was as close to nothing as could be.

But maybe getting the hell out of Tulsa was a good idea. She could start over somewhere else. Wherever she and Anna went next, she wouldn't need to be the big, bad wolf because no one would know who she was and who she was supposed to be. For the first time in her life, she could just be Violet Winston, and no one would have any ideas about it.

She knew exactly where she and Anna were meant to go.

* * *

**And that, for some reason, is the end. It kind of needed to be, considering this is almost exactly as long as "Odd," and that was a multi-chap fic (technically). And it didn't take me four months to write this – just one! Let me tell you, that was the fastest month ever. I can't believe it's already time for me to go back to work at the end of the week.**

**I'm not sure how I feel about this story for the same reason I'm not sure how I feel about "Displaced." These are more explorations of the OFC herself than they are of her relationships to the canon characters or to the fairytale in question because I don't know these characters as well as I know Sadie, Lucy, Jane, or even Lilly and Katie. There's one more of these fairytale-inspired one shots (at least), and that one will be quite a challenge. We'll see! For now, I'm going to try to be OK with Violet's little story here and hope you are, too, if you made it this far.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I quote "Little Red Riding Hood" by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, which I obviously don't own. I also quote "Call Me" by Blondie, and I clearly don't own that, either. I own a new pair of boots that look like they need to be tied to be taken on and off, but really, they're powered by zippers. Very convenient, no? **


End file.
